


Lost In the Static

by OldEmeraldEye



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Madison Wolves - Robin Roseau
Genre: Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldEmeraldEye/pseuds/OldEmeraldEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith isn't running anywhere in particular. More running from, but that doesn't seem to be working all that well either. So it's probably a good thing she runs into a pack with a good therapist.<br/>Now, if only they'd stop throwing her in a cell ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost In the Static

Faith starts the night at a bar she's found. It's called the Ironed Dog or something, but she doesn't really care. It's just another bar on her cross country trip to nowhere.

She's not here to care. She's here to forget.

She's in luck. The music isn't half bad, and the company can, for once, almost keep up with her. She lets people buy her drinks. A free drink is a good drink, after all, and she's here to have fun. She lets them fight over her for a while before picking her partner for the night.

She's not one to kiss and tell (much) but it's definitely a while before she gets to sleep.

 

While she sleeps, she dreams.

She dreams of a forest at night.

Moonlight through the trees. Of wolves.

She dreams of the chase.

She's being hunted. She's running, running so fast that the trees are a blur. But it's not fast enough to escape.

Fast enough to trip.

Slow enough to feel teeth at her throat and to be shaken like a -

“Hey. Hey! Wake up!”

She makes her escape. (This is why she shouldn't sleep with people, but a bed's a bed, no matter how she gets it or who she has to share it with.)

 

Faith finds nothing on her patrol through the streets, which helps her nerves not an iota, and those aren't even real.

 

She heads for the woods the next night.

She's getting some action here if it kills her.

Whatever demon that has this place looking like an ad for safest town in America – if she is still in America, it's not like she's paying attention to borders, of any description, or signs other than neon - has to be somewhere, and it ain't in town. So the forest it is.

Besides, trees make excellent high ground, even if she runs a good hour before finding one she likes. Not that the others scare her. It's not that. She's not a kid. Snow White stopped giving her nightmares years ago.

She's in her perch maybe ten minutes, starting to reconsider not bring a pillow along, when a fox runs past.

It's literally the most entertaining thing she's seen all night, not counting the rabbits, but those are boring without anyone to scandalize. And anyway, fox, rabbits, they kinda go together like Slayers at a buffet. Or something.

She freezes. Tries to freeze more. Becomes the metaphorical icicle.

Because the fox is back. And it's climbing. Not her tree, the one next to it.

Are foxes supposed to climb trees? This one does.

It make it halfway across a branch about five feet below her, maybe twenty feet away ( she could probably jump the distance, if she wanted) before it notices her. It makes a sound that probably translates as 'the hell', if she spoke fox.

Right back at you, buddy.

They stare.

They stare for a long time.

Long enough for her to wonder if it's her looking at the fox looking at her, or the fox looking at her looking at it?

She's getting way too zen in her middle age.

Eventually, just as her eyes are starting to water, they seem to come to an agreement. She blinks, the fox settles down in a fork in the branch, and she gets to move her legs, which are halfway past sleep, heading towards deader than refried beans.

Growl.

Okay, so she isn't allowed to move her legs. Figures.

What kind of crazy fox is this?

Wait a minute.

Fox.

Demon.

Fox demon.

Those are almost definitely a thing, right? Like mermaids? Only with less singing. And more fur.

It doesn't feel demonic, though.

Another growl.

It's almost cute.

It'd be cuter if she wasn't currently trying to figure out whether or not to be freaking out.

She tries refreezing.

Happy sound.

It sounds happy, anyway.

(Why is she listening to a fox?)

Being a city girl in the woods sucks.

Maybe she should cut the drinks before slaying, cause why she thought this was a good idea ...

 

She snaps awake (not that she was sleeping. Sleeping in trees equals badness, generally involving falling from said tree. She knows, she's done it. It was a fire escape, but the principle's the same.)

Wolves.

There are wolves below her.

Big wolves.

Not dogs. Wolves.

Huskies she can handle. She likes huskies. Well, likes looking at them. In a pet store. Through glass. Some of the teams aren't too bad to look at either.

She's pretty sure there weren't any signs in town about this.

They don't seem to have noticed her, but the bloody fox is definitely crazy. Damn thing sounds like it's taunting them.

Demon probability increasing …

Faith's working on the plan where she's a tree. It seems to be going well.

A howl.

Or not.

Damn it. Please be at the fox.

Can't see me, you can't see me, I'm invisible, hear no Faith, see no Faith ...

More wolves, as loud as the first two.

How many of them are there? They're literally thirty minutes, tops, from Madison.

Someone should've noticed a pack of wolves running around.

It's not like this is Sunnydale.

Another howl, more growling.

Much scarier than the fox.

The tree shakes. Are they trying to climb – they're actually trying to climb the bloody tree. Or shake her out of it. Either way, she is so out of here.

She manages the jump to the first tree she tries. The second, not so much.

Stupid branch. Stupid, _stupid, bloody_ branch that had to break while – shit.

The wolves catch up within a minute – maybe less – of her starting to run.

No more drinking. Ever.

She's tackled as she goes for another tree, manages to twist just enough to free her arms before she's pinned to the ground. She's always been good at brawling.

She goes for her knife. A stake's not going to cut it.

There are teeth – so many teeth, it's almost like she's back on the biker – coming at her, but she intercepts with her arm before it can get her throat.

An arm she can grow back, maybe, but her head? Not a chance in hell.

There's a split second where it registers that she still has her arm, and that it's still attached her body, that the wolf's holding her, not biting - like what? Like it wants to save her for later, that's what. To eat after the fox, maybe? Who knows? Who cares? Not Faith of the many knives.

She catches it in the neck with the blade.

There's no way she's letting this thing kill her.

It doesn't let up on it's grip, shakes her like a rag doll.

Sends her brain bouncing around in her skull.

She's going for a second stab when her head bounces off a rock.

It's not much conciliation, but she thinks she heard it break as she blacks out.


End file.
